From there, it went through a couple high-score setting players in Washington, D.C., before it traveled to Seattle via a sound designer calling himself DJ Spike. He whipped up three high-energy techno tracks ("on the boss' equipment, lol!" per the notes) and copied it onto a couple drives he had lying around. Obviously, the path splits up from there. The copy I have moved down the West Coast, high-scored by a Dangermouse in Portland before finally arriving in Los Angeles, where the final boss was finished, an epic battle involving five entire screens of the game, rumored to be un-defeat-able by normal people. From there, a succession of programmers added little tweaks here and there, debugging the game and adding in new levels and enemies, until it arrived on my desk with 57 levels, a soundtrack that's pretty good for a game that fits in your pocket, and a jaw-dropping high score chart from players around the country.
Playing is an integral part of the process, as it's impossible to judge who wants to contribute to a project and who just wants to kill a few hours on their stolen laptop while taking the train into Portland in the morning. Each game has a dedicated comment file in its folder, and to peruse one is to peruse a cross-section of the new gaming society. You'll find everything from the classic "This game sucks" to Ph.D. quality theses on what the evil aliens spewing fire means vis-à-vis modern American attitudes on immigration. Some collectors grab the comment files just for something interesting to read.
Reading through the comment file is like crossing paths with a thousand people. "Thanks for the game, guys," says Mark. "Needed something to take my mind off things!" One of the programmers says, "Spent my whole day scripting 10 levels. Boss didn't like it, but what's he gonna do, fire me? My contract is up today!" Denise Jacobs' 10-year-old boy "really enjoyed the game, took his mind off the drive for a while and he wouldn't stop talking about the bad guy at the end!" There's a five page rant by someone named The Prophet, chronicling the actual battle that took place in the game and what it means for the world; a mishmash of odd fan-fiction and end-time prophecy that's fascinating and rather disconcerting to read.
The blue-sky predictions we made in the past were wrong. The future wasn't immersion or robots or mind-blowing graphics, and it wasn't a dystopian cyberpunk future (despite my best efforts). The crash of the buyer crashed the industry and drove it back into an older state, with a modern twist on it. The floppy is now the jump drive. Development teams may number in the hundreds spread across the country, rather than one talented programmer working out of his garage. But the culture of sharing, collaboration and innovation has returned. Sneakernet was dead. Long live Sneakernet.
Shannon Drake likes commas and standing out in the rain.
